Hey everyone, I haven't been on here in a while, but this was inspired by a mental hospital au post on tumblr. Let me know how I did and if you liked it!

"Can you tell me about the patients in ward M, Doctor Fury?" Loki asked as they walked past another set of large white doors, a large red M painted over them to distinguish it from the other sections of the hospital. His dark green uniform was neatly ironed and for the fifth time he wondered if he should have worn sneakers, like the other nurses, rather than formal black shoes for his first day at work. The taller man let out a breath and Loki watched his brows furrow in concentration, and Loki wondered if he was deciding how much to tell him.

"Patients Banner, Stark, Odinson, Romanoff, Rogers and Barton share a very peculiar condition." He made note of the names "They have an undifferentiated type of schizophrenia, and there's a lot about their conditions that we still don't understand. But over the past few years they've developed some sort of collective delusion." The man stretched the last few words out, like he himself had trouble believing that a delusion was all it was. "They believe they're some type of heroes…" Loki raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "They call themselves 'The Avengers'. Both together and individually they face overblown, grand conflicts against an assortment of enemies: human, alien, monsters, gods, you name it… They might even make you into one." He said and Loki took another look at the door as they kept walking towards Fury's office, wondering what type of villain they would make him out to be.

"So how do you snap them out of it?" he asked, the M on the door looked almost sinister, mocking him and he held back a shudder.

"We don't." Loki's head snapped back to look at the man. "There are some people you just can't fix." He told him, staring ahead. "The best we can do is try to keep them out of trouble." His eyes were vacant and, looking at him closely, Loki could almost make out traces of a scar under his eye. He nodded slowly and stared ahead as they kept walking. "Try not to get too involved with them." He said and Loki gave a small nod.

"Yes, sir." He said quietly.

"What are we going to do?" Natasha asked, her nails had been recently cut so short the sensitive pink skin showed and there were traces where her fingers had bled a bit. Clint sat by her, the once sharp eyes were now hazy from the medicine and he leaned his head on her shoulder to keep it from falling forward.

"What can we do?" Bruce asked almost miserably, his eyes hazy as well but less so, since the medicine they'd administered to him served a different purpose. "The suits are destroyed, the Hulk is sleeping, and Thor's powers got stripped... and Steve is in 'therapy' right now." They tensed. It was hard to believe how hard they'd fallen.

"So what?" Tony asked, the fighting spirit almost beaten out of him "What does SHIELD want?" Almost. He had half a mind to barge out of the room and make another break for it but they were too weak, too drugged up and Natasha's cuts still bled when she walked, so Thor had to carry her most places.

"We" Clint spoke and his breathing was harsh. Bruce leaned forward and checked on him for the fourth time that hour. "We know too much." he shuddered. "We probably became too much for... them to handle." Out of all of them, his medicine was the strongest, leaving him drooling and practically dead most days but when the guards were feeling "nice", they'd give him enough so that he could still be aware of the things going on around him and of the pain that the medicine caused his head and body.

"We'll get out." Tony muttered, before the guards came and pulled them all apart and shoved him into his single room, he saw out of the corner of his eye, as he struggled, how Thor fought to keep Natasha for getting hit and Bruce took most of the blows aimed at Clint.

"For a genius, Dr. Banner" The name rolled off the archer's tongue easily, despite how his lungs worked to push them out with any force. "You're kind of an idiot." Clint stared up at him, the Doctor's lips are split in several places and his right cheek was badly bruised again. His own chest still hurt from the medicine but talking was no longer a great feat and it was easier to focus on the man's face hovering over his own.

"We share a cell, Barton." Bruce mumbled and fought the urge to bite his lip and cause himself any more pain. His jaw hurt from the way one of the agents had gripped his neck. "I think you can call me Bruce at this point." He ran his hand over a smooth bandage on Clint's chest, one of the last they had. His eyes flickered back to Clint's face and he reached for a jar of cream that would help with the pain of the bruises, one of the few things they tossed him when he begged for the first aid kit, and slowly smeared it on the bruises on Clint's neck and face.

"Then call me Clint." He said and managed to place a hand over Bruce's. "You didn't have to take all those hits for me…" he assured him and Bruce cracked a small smile.

"We need you alive to get out, Clint." He pointed out and the archer snorted bitterly, his lungs immediately protesting. Bruce began to pack the things back into the small bag to save in case they'd need it later, but Clint grabbed the small jar.

"Lay down." He ordered and pat the section of the bed by him. Bruce sighed but seeing the other wasn't going to leave him alone, he lay down, his back to him. Clint pulled the thin hospital shirt up and tried not to wince as he saw the large bruises on the doctor's skin. He slowly smeared the cream over the man's back, praying for the first time in a while that they'd be able to leave someday.